The World of Soph

Decay

noreply@blogger.com (Soph) — Mon, 04 Aug 2008 19:12:00 +0000

I can feel my teeth decaying as I continue to chomp through the debris of my failed flapjack.

Tastes nice though...

The Outcast - complete

noreply@blogger.com (Soph) — Mon, 04 Aug 2008 19:00:00 +0000

Aaaaah.

Work was rubbish today.

There was a big black cloud over the place and everyone was irritable, and pissed off and completely unhappy about being there. Including me.

So at lunchtime, I hot-footed it to my car for some respite from the world and it's people.

I could have gone to the park, but there are generally people there.

I clambered into the backseat with my many containers of healthy food.

And my book.

Pulled the armrest down the middle, put my tub of salad on it, sprawled across the seat with my back against the door nearest the road and got back to the world of Lewis, Kit and the evil 1950s bit-players that inhabit their world.

And finished it with minutes to go to get back to work and pull myself together.

I cried.

My heart was pumping as I continued to read. I was there, with Lewis, every step of the way.

I felt his frustration and pain and love and, finally, hope.

I could cry just remembering it.

I don't know whether it was as beautiful as I thought, but I was really moved by it. Perhaps it was just the right time to read it.

Amazing how Sadie Jones has managed to create this atmosphere of repression, full of resentment and lust just bubbling away under the surface, threatening to explode, or implode, and take with it the 'stiff upper lip' that rules.

I fell in love with the two main characters. Just a little bit. And I was so impassioned with hatred for their nemeses that I would grit my teeth with rage at their actions and words.

That is a sign of good writing, if you ask me.

The Magic Flapjack

noreply@blogger.com (Soph) — Mon, 04 Aug 2008 18:52:00 +0000

Now, I can make flapjacks. Out of all the delicacies I cannot cook, flapjacks are the one thing I can make, and make well.

So I decided to follow the recipe my reflexologist gave me. Which was pretty simple. Baked it for the right amount of time.

Left it to cool.

Tipped it out.

And we have a flapjack ring.

With the middle in a pile of golden (organic), syrup-coated oats.

Alas, the ring is no more. I have chewed through it.

So much for 'healthy'. If I'd been able to cut it into strips I wouldn't be sitting here with a dessertspoon shovelling the crumbly pieces into my sticky little gob.

I blame the organic oats. They're huge compared to the good old Quaker standard stuff.

The Outcast - By Sadie Jones

noreply@blogger.com (Soph) — Mon, 04 Aug 2008 07:11:00 +0000

No - don't tell me the ending.

I have about 20 pages left.

I could have finished it last night, but it was 1am by the time I switched the light off anyway.

And I could have sat for much longer in Costa this morning and finished it as well.

But I had to walk home and get changed for work.

The soundtrack in Costa for a particular sequence within the book was perfect. Some heart-felt cover of Frankie Goes To Hollywood's 'The Power Of Love' by a breathy-voiced woman, at a very poignant and crucial moment in the story.

The story is building up to such an intensity I think I will cry when I finish it, regardless of what actually happens. And something has to happen. Things continue to happen throughout the book, and each time I get totally frustrated for the protagonist.

Because it's set in the 1950s. Repression rules.

And when I first started reading it I didn't get it. I found it a bit too simplistic. But yesterday something clicked in my head (it takes me a while to get things sometimes) and I can barely put it down now.

But at the same time I'm scared to finish it.

I think I may need a day of mourning before I start another book.

It's got me in its grip.

Talent

noreply@blogger.com (Soph) — Mon, 04 Aug 2008 07:08:00 +0000

So, on my early morning walk back from ~~the crack den~~ Costa today, I notice a Coke bottle lying in the gutter.

With a pile of dog poo balanced rather precariously on it.

Now, as much as I dislike both littering and dog poo not being bagged and binned, I had to marvel at the talent of that particular dog.

Let's have a moment to consider his/her achievement.

Mr Dog, I applaud you.

iTunes Purchased

noreply@blogger.com (Soph) — Tue, 29 Jul 2008 21:51:00 +0000

Bleeding Love - Leona Lewis

Mr. Brightside - Paul Anka

Mad World (from "Donnie Darko") - Sacre

Everybody's Gotta Learn Sometimes - Beck

Rock Star - Nickelback

Sweet About Me - Gabriella Cilmi

The Power of Love - Frankie Goes to Hollywood

Don't Look Back Into The Sun - the Libertines

Drops of Jupiter - Train

Meet Pigpen

noreply@blogger.com (Soph) — Tue, 29 Jul 2008 20:54:00 +0000

So. Today was fairly muggy again, right?

Even after that thunderstorm we had in these 'ere parts, the mugginess started to build up again mid-morning.

And, the heat, it seems, brings out the freaks.

The heavy atmosphere provided a bit of pathetic fallacy to the agitation that seemed to be skittering around work today.

Possibly the early morning walks into town for a small latte are not helping in the agitation stakes. Esp when coupled with a filter coffee mid-morning and a full-fat Coke at lunch.

So, anyway. Droitwich Library was manic today. It had it's quiet moments, but they tended to be when we were fully-staffed. I believe the public know how our timetable works now, and come in at 10.30am, 10.45am, 12noon, 1.00pm, 3.00pm and 3.15pm - those times when, today at least, we are down to minimum staff due to breaks.

This afternoon brought everyone in. And not just everyone, but everyone and their bloody kids.

This town needs more pharmacies, more sexual health advice, more barriers to the infestation that continues to occur.

I am starting to panic whenever a family walk in. I.e. mum, toddler, 5-6 year old, and baby in pram. This is one of the smaller families.

I mean, I know there's nothing better to do around here, but really - have they sold out of condoms everywhere?!

I suggested we hand out condoms with the Summer Reading Challenge starter packs. Bit of a heavy-handed hint, but I think we're past the polite suggestions, now aren't we?

It was a no-go unfortunately, but I'll keep trying for next year.

Anyway, late this afternoon, our resident Pigpen came in. We try to chase him round with air freshener, without him noticing. He's that level of clientele.

I was fortunate enough to be on the Enquiry Desk on my own. When he ambled over with his long, grey, stuck-together locks of god-knows-what-infested hair and big smelly coat.

*heave*

The thought of it brings back the smell. And the smell is not good.

Anyway, he asked me for information. I asked him some questions to try and figure out what exactly he wanted and what the easiest, and therefore quickest, way of helping him would be.

I discovered it's difficult to hold your breath and hold a conversation and search the Internet at once. At least it is without letting onto the other person that you are repulsed by their stench.

He was fairly cagey about the information he wanted. And it wasn't a particularly 'difficult' subject. Anyway, I finally got out of him what he wanted, and discovered that the museum he 'assumed' the photo he wanted to see was in, was the wrong bloody museum, and a simple Google search told me the correct museum and found the missing piece of info. Hoorah for Google and it's librarian-destroying abilities.

I cut and paste the specific bits he wanted, and said that I could print it off, but there would be a charge of 10p, adding silently that it should be a whole lot more than that because I should be on Danger Money here.

Oh, before all this, I had politely suggested that it would be better for him to use the Internet to do the search himself, and that I could set him up, get the page up and let him get on with it, especially if he knew what he was looking for, and especially since it was turning out to be a fairly time consuming enquiry. Due to his non-compliance. And smelliness.

Anyway, he was non-too pleased about the whole 10p thing. He said I wasn't 'like the other people who have dealt with him'. Clearly not in a good way. Which actually makes my blood boil the more I think about it. If I could have told him to fuck his smelly arse out of the door and never come back, I would have quite happily.

And why was I not like the other people who have dealt with him? Because they never charged him. I told him, as politely as I could, that they should have. I went on to say that all of those people currently using the Internet (look at them, damn you), all of them have to pay 10p for every page they print off, so even though I have done it for you (and actually, sir, gone out of my way to cut and paste and enlarge fonts and tidy up things for your reading pleasure) you still have to pay 10p.

He asked if the photo would be in colour.

I took great pleasure in saying that yes, we could print it off in colour, but that would set him back a whole 40p.

Pah.

He paid up and stalked upstairs, no doubt to continue polluting the muggy air with his putrid stench.

I collared a couple of colleagues about it, and they agreed that they always charge customers for print outs, unless it is something we should have to hand, or there are extenuating circumstances of some kind.

I did feel like telling him that if a colleague had let him off a print out charge it was purely to get rid of him because they needed to breathe again.

But I can't do that, can I? So I do it here instead.

Whatever I did without my rantspace, I'll never know.

Picture of Pigpen courtesy of Peanuts official website.

Pets

noreply@blogger.com (Soph) — Tue, 29 Jul 2008 20:29:00 +0000

I am grasping for an appropriate title for this post. That's all I got.

Anyway.

Yesterday. At work.

Let's start there.

Let's start with our morning briefing.

Where our manager, who, let me say, is lovely, and a very good manager.

Except for this one niggly little thing that happens occasionally.

This one little thing where she sings the praises, or implies, or hints at...or similar...one particular member of staff.

This particular member of staff has been discussed in the blog before. Strangely enough it was this time last year...let's see...time passes...

Hmmm...so the only sentence I seem to have written about the last debacle with this colleague is this:

Just as the last time I got Extremely Pissed Off was all about monkeys and ladybirds.

Ok...don't give too much away then!

I just got carried away reading an old post then. I do that. I find myself far too readable. It's embarrassingly self-obsessive if you ask me.

Anyway, where was I? So, at the briefing, lovely boss (and she is, no sarcasm at all, honestly) said something along the lines of "Annoyingly chirpy staff member could run the place now less emphasis is placed upon qualifications".

Which is harmless, in itself. Just a joky bit of banter.

But, in the context of my brain, and I suspect had another colleague been there, her brain too, it just continues to perpetuate the snowball of ego that is freefalling and driving one or two people insane.

Hmm, bit of a weird image, but I know what I mean.

This colleague is also very lovely and well-meaning. But...she is manically hyper to the point of combustion. After last year, where things happened, and everything went, I believe the technical term is "tits up", things had calmed down for a while, but it has been building up again, with certain 'higher ups' treating certain 'wannabes' with kid gloves and praising their every fart and patting them on the head and giving them more opportunities than the rest of us lowlies.

And my farts are way better!

But, it's not really her fault. I mean, I can't bitch about her manicness, because I too can be manic. In a slightly less hug-everyone-and-his-dog way, but still, it must be quite annoying sometimes.

I blame the happy pills.

And it's not her fault people are treating her with kid gloves. But, surely she can see it? And surely she can sense the disgruntlement among others?

But, then. In her defence, when a colleague was moaning about how she gets to do whatever the fuck she wants, I said that perhaps we don't ask for things, so we don't get them.

It's such a female thing, isn't it? As soon as I request time to focus on something, I generally get it. It's just that she is more demanding than the rest of us, in asking for time to do the stuff she wants to do.

Anyway. I was steaming yesterday, because here I am slogging away at this fucking MSc in Info and Library Studies, and what's the bloody point, really? That's what I felt the boss was saying. I'm sure she didn't mean anything like that, but at that moment, my face was grinning, but had anyone looked closely, they'd have seen the grimace barely veiled beneath it.

Deal?

noreply@blogger.com (Soph) — Mon, 28 Jul 2008 07:06:00 +0000

OK, so it's all very, um, well-intentioned, to think 'ah, 'tis a beautiful morn, I shall embark on a little stroll and take in the rural atmosphere before going to the greenhouse that is work...' but, next time you have this mad thought, perhaps wear shoes that, erm, work?

Because wearing ballet-pumps that are falling apart is not the best idea when walking along pavements, up hills, and dodging dried up explosions of vomit.

But I feel better for my walk. And the small latte that was the reason for my walk.

I just hope no-one saw me walk past and then past again not long after. Because, since I have no dog as an excuse to walk, I may have looked odd walking the mile or so into town, and back again, for no reason but a small latte.

Along the way I was trying to convince myself to buy a bottle of water instead, but really, that's just ridiculous. So I compromised and got a small instead of my customary 'regular' latte.

And anyway, although I had to stop five or six times to shake the little stones out of my shoes, and coax my toes out of their gnarled crampy position, it was worth it just to get chance to listen to 'This Reality'.

Shameless cross-referencing, moi? I don't know what you mean! But if the BBC do it, it must be right:)

Not sure about that second Spanish song - no idea what it was about, but I'm sure I heard the word Brasso there somewhere. And it was a little bit Eighties, wasn't it? Bit Eurovision?

But he more than makes up for it with the last two songs - Anemo and ‘Fallout Renegade’ and Twilight Dementia and ‘Gimme Shelter’. Brilliant!

Worcester

noreply@blogger.com (Soph) — Wed, 23 Jul 2008 21:44:00 +0000

I rushed into Worcester this evening to meet Mum and Dad to see 'Mamma Mia' at the pics.

Yeah - so? I'm going to the pictures with my Mum and Dad, so what?! You wanna say that to my face? Eh? Eh?!

Anyway, it didn't happen, because it had sold out. In both cinemas.

In fact, as I was walking from the car park, I was fighting a tide of Vue cinema rejects and figured that by the time we became part of that tide, the less-popular Odeon would be sold out too.

So, tell me, please - what the fuck was going on in Worcester tonight?

I mean, it was HEAVING. For a Wednesday evening.

Alright, so it was a nice day.

But really, there was far too many people wandering around for a week night.

Perhaps everyone is on holiday - but there were no kids to speak of.

Who is looking after the children?

Won't somebody think of the children?!

I was gobsmacked at the sheer volume of people. Everywhere.

OK, not gobsmacked, so much, as I was on the phone to an increasingly pissed off Bren, giving him a caffeine-fuelled rundown of my day with interjections of: 'The people! There are so many! Bren - the people!!! Where are they coming from?!'

He sounded a little less pissed off when I called him from home. Think he'd had a bad day...Must remember not to ask about work in future.

Anyway, so, 'Mamma Mia' is obviously far more popular than I'd expected (really? I'm so surprised about that), so we'll book tickets for next Weds (why Weds? Because it's Dad's night off work - hey, I have no clue why he wants to see it...don't ask me, maybe he's just coming along with Mum, they tend to do stuff together, which is sweet - and Bren is away, and grateful that I won't be dragging him along).

So we went to Bushwhackers. Which I find hilarious. Mum and Dad in Bushwhackers. Brilliant. OK, so at 8pm it's fairly sedate and non-slut filled, but still.

I actually talked them to death. There are two corpses sitting outside at Bushwhackers as we speak. OK, not quite, but I did talk. A lot. But then Mum drained her second (small, fortunately) glass of wine, and she took the baton.

Dad rolled his eyes everyso often and tried to speak, but didn't get much of a word in, to be honest.

How he ever managed to put up with both of us under one roof, I will never know.

And I have come home and polished off 3 massive cookies and 3 mini Babybels.

What is with me and food at the moment?!

I'm not eating to live, I'm living to eat - it's gluttony, pure and simple.

Vacuum

noreply@blogger.com (Soph) — Tue, 22 Jul 2008 17:28:00 +0000

My head. Is empty.

I was going to e-mail the Programme Secretary at Aber Uni today, to make sure she got my assignment, but on checking my Aber mail, she'd got there first. Yes, she'd received the assignment.

Alas, I'd forgotten to provide a Declaration Sheet (to say 'oh, no Officer, it's definitely all my own work' although I can't imagine anyone else would want to claim I had stolen their work, since this assignment is so shite).

Luckily, it was easily sorted via e-mail.

But still. What a twat.

I really am going to get my act together for the next one.

But for now. I shall vacuum.

And then watch movies all night. I have 'Cloverfield' and 'The Other Boleyn Sister' or 'Girl' or whatever it is.

Random

noreply@blogger.com (Soph) — Tue, 22 Jul 2008 06:20:00 +0000

I actually dreamt about Henry Kelly off of 'Going for Gold' last night.

WTF?!

That was in between dreams involving playing basketball with a jumper, and kicking Mo from Big Brother in the bollocks.

There was more, but my poor brain has chosen to disregard the rest, in an attempt to retain (some of) my sanity.

PPS...ppsssst...

noreply@blogger.com (Soph) — Mon, 21 Jul 2008 23:20:00 +0000

Sorry - I just need to explain the Mail on Sunday.

McFly.

I don't particularly like them.

Not really really.

But I have decided to at least admit to myself that I like a tune that my toes like.

And my toes like McFly, damn them.

They tap away like a foot possessed, they do.

I know, that's so grammatically wrong. So sue me. It's way past my bed time.

So I shame-facedly bought the Mail on Sunday to get a copy of their new album.

Not listened to it yet.

Should probably hold off on that for tonight.

It's probably not 'lullaby' material, is it?

PS...pssst...

noreply@blogger.com (Soph) — Mon, 21 Jul 2008 23:09:00 +0000

I forgot.

Food.

I was sooo full of good intentions this week after yet another gain on Wednesday.

Alas, it has totally fallen away today.

Started well.

Didn't even go to Costa on the way to the bus station. Am very proud of this restraint.

It didn't last long.

I blame my colleague, who used the feeble excuse that her son was going to be on University Challenge tonight (he was with York and I was very impressed) to bring in a million cake-related substances.

I had a veritable cake buffet at morning break.

Ate my lunch, which included fruit that has travelled more than Michael Palin (many a journey to and from work on days that I have decided chocolate is much better for me), and therefore was very healthy. Treated myself to a(nother) mini doughnut after lunch, not because I was hungry, simply because I thought I should treat myself for being so good. And that's before I got home.

Veggie sausages, Quorn bacon, new potatoes (pre-packaged though - covered in butter, bad bad bad) and a couple of mushrooms. Not too bad, but the quantity was stupid. Follow this with a Chunky Kit Kat, 2 (count them) 2 butter-icing-ed lemon cupcakes and a Skinny Cow (lol - ridiculous that I am stuffing a slimming food after all that) Smoothie Ice Lolly thing. And I think you'll find a very full, very fat, very annoyed-with-herself Sophie.

I'm off to order Paul McKenna's 'I Can Make You Thin' now.

I bet even he'd struggle with this insatiable freak.

The Beginning...cue dramatic music...

noreply@blogger.com (Soph) — Mon, 21 Jul 2008 22:13:00 +0000

...of...the Summer Reading Challenge.

Today was good.

I am no longer post-hangover, post-up-until-5am, pre-pills-kicking-in-again.

I.e. I am no longer a miserable fucking cow who cannot see the point of her life.

How manic depressives deal with that kind of shit all the time, I do not know.

Because last Tuesday was dark. Grey. Absolutely fucking dire.

I don't care if I am dependent on my tablets, because I do not want to go back to feeling like that full time. And I will not be drinking alcohol for a long time.

Not because I had a hangover - I have had far, FAR worse hangovers than that unquenchable thirst-related one. At no point was my head over a toilet bowl wondering why I do it to myself ('just do, and that's why it really hurts...').

No the 'hangover' part was not the conventional hangover.

It was the 'you've screwed your equilibrium up with chemicals that make you feel woozy for a few hours, and now the chemicals that keep you sane are not playing the game for a day or so' kind of hangover.

I prefer the hovering head first over a toilet bowl myself; far less soul-destroying than the greyness that draped me last Tuesday.

Pauses to switch off telly which is actually to drivelling on to itself and being annoying more than anything else. Music is required, methinks...excuse me for a moment.

OK, that's better.

My eyes hurt. But I'm fidgety and don't want to sleep just yet. Feel a little bit naughty because I am in bed, and therefore should be doing bed-related things.

Sleeping, people, sleeping. Tsk tsk on you and your bad, filthy thoughts...(or am I just reflecting my own dirty mind onto yours?).

It's against all the 'self-help' rules to have telly and laptop on in the bedroom. I am so bad.

Ah well.

So today, as I was saying before that rather large tangent, was good.

I suspect it has something to do with the ironing.

No, really. I clearly remember thinking about the ironing just before I fell asleep last night. I had done it. All of it. Now, it may just be two of us, but I believe the dirty-clothes fairies have been popping over while we are sleeping and filling our dirty linen basket. Because I had an almighty pile of ironing to do.

Or, it could simply be because I was possessed by a slothlike creature last week and there was at least a couple of weeks' (hmm...concerned about where the apostrophe goes there...but not so much that I have to look it up...no complaints if wrong, please) worth of ironing to be done.

And did it I, erm, did. It took about an hour, maybe one and a half. But who's counting?

And I fell into bed, legs tired, but mind filled with calm.

It's a very satisfying thing. I may even take a photo of our heaving airing cupboard with it's many layers of neat clothing, bedding and towels. It's like a cross-section of the earth or something.

And my legs were tired, not just due to my mammoth iron-a-thon, but because I did the Race for Life in Bromsgrove yesterday.

That too was a satisfying experience. Not a lot of racing was done, not by me, anyway. Not until I got towards the end where everyone stands clapping and I have to do my customary two-second-sprint over the finish line. But it was a great atmosphere and I had a laugh, and a bit of an appreciation for other people and what they go through. I can be quite hard on people, most of the time, in fact, and who am I to judge, really? I've got it pretty darn good.

But I do have achy legs from it.

All the way around, all I could think of was the reward I was giving myself at the end.

Costa.

It was like a chant in my head. Costa Costa Costa. With a 'muffin muffin muffin' thrown in every now and then. And that bloody Scouting for Girls song just to even things out and confirm my declining mental status over the 5km journey.

Oh, and the fact that even before we'd hit the 1km marker I was desperate for a wee and wishing I hadn't downed so much water so quickly.

So after my very much needed wee after finishing, I left my friends and headed on into town, took out my Mail on Sunday and enjoyed a vat of latte and a low-fat muffin. Thus undoing all the good calorie-burning work I'd done that morning. And the previous afternoon (much 'working out' was had on Saturday. Ahem).

And then, folks, I walked home. WALKED.

I need to start jogging again, because it made me feel great. I admit I spent the rest of the day slobbing around, but I felt so good that it was very positive slobbing, if such a thing exists.

And the slobbing involved finishing a book, which is always a positive thing. If it's a good book. Which it was. 'No Time To Say Goodbye' by Linwood Barclay. One of the R&J Summer Reads.

Just what I needed. A nice easy gripper which I could barely look up from, even when Bren returned from his disappointing and infuriating trip to Stafford. Poor chap. I really did feel shit for him. And although at first, when he got home, the book was poised in my hand ready to return to, as I asked how he was, I did put it down when he was clearly so pissed off and beating himself up about stuff.

I am a very excellent wife. *cough*.

Anyway, while he was muttering away to himself at the kitchen counter, recording his podcast, I curled up on the sofa, with my big Obi Wan Kenobi hoodie-cardi on, and returned to the world of missing parents and siblings and mysterious brown cars and hats.

If that isn't how Sunday afternoons should be spent, then I'm a, erm, mother's brother's primate...or something.

Second only to rampant afternoon sex sessions.

Anyway.

I still haven't got to today, have I?

I caught the bus today. And I think that gave me purpose.

Because I have, of late (she said in a very Hamlet-esque kinda way), been turning off my alarm and adding an hour to it, before falling out of bed and rushing around and getting to work feeling like crap.

But today, Bren kissed me goodbye and told me to go back to sleep, but I knew I had to get up, so I did.

And very methodically did all of the morning things that usually take me so long, or that I have to rush.

I think the key is not to turn the laptop on, and not to watch the brain-sucking GMTV. So, I listened to Radio One. Which, in itself is fairly brain-sucking, but has music, and therefore is a good mood-booster. And I like the 'Brand New Cheesy Song' thing.

Anyway, I caught the 7.38 bus (after walking, WALKING I tells ya, into Bromsgrove) into work, went and got changed and attempted to cover the infestation of evil-looking spots that are having a convention on my face at the moment, before heading out to join to Post Office queue.

To post my assignment. Hoo. Fucking. Ray.

I have never been so glad to see the back of a piece of work. Never. Not even my GCSE Maths exam was so distressing.

Also posted the books back and almost dusted my hands after I'd handed the whole sorry lot over the the cheerful chappy at the counter.

And then, when I got back to work, all the lighter, I could focus upon my next nemesis. The Summer Reading Challenge.

The 'Team Read'. The irony that would have been had, had that been the title of last year's SRC. Because we were anything but a team this time last year at work. It was like the Big Brother house of library staff. All bitchin' and moanin' about each other over ladybirds.

Anyway, We have about 170 spaces for children aged between 4 and 12 to join this year. A few more than last year, just in case. Today we must have signed up about 50.

It's so funny, because this time, instead of the pushy/enthusiastic parents blocking the Enquiry Desk with their hoards of eager/non-plussed children, we have set up a desk off to one side, covered in red paper and with posters everywhere saying 'Team Read' and 'Join Here!' with pens and registration cards. Funny, because people continued to come to the Counter (the first desk in the building) and ask to join, be directed to the rather obvious table, then look at it, walk past it, queue at the Enquiry Desk, and ask again. Only to be pointed to big red table which is quite obviously only there for one bloody reason!

I have now moved on from my non-judgemental Race for Life frame of mind. Deal with it.

Anyway, aside from the bad parenting, I really enjoyed today. I went to check to see whether activity sheets needed topping up in the Children's Library and it was like a fucking zoo. I swear. And the core family unit causing this mess and destruction had a totally inept or non-caring mother at the head of it. I have no idea who had done this, but DVDs and videos had been taken from their shelves, carried across to the other side of the section and seemingly thrown around. Not just one or two, it must have been at least fifteen to twenty. I scanned the area ready with my evil eye to chide the culprit, but alas, could find no-one to blame. There was a woman sitting nearby chatting away on the phone who I could have directed my venom towards, simply for being on the phone, but, she seemed just as distraught at the mess as me. Well, as distraught as one can be when they're chatting loudly on a mobile phone while their cute little boy tries to get their attention.

I don't understand these breeders, I really don't. Since I'm not one, and never will be, I guess I never will. And this is quite the double-edged sword, in my profession.

How pretentious does that sound - 'in my profession'?! What a twat.

So there we go.

And now it's past midnight.

I suspect tomorrow/today's wake-up call will not go quite so well as today's/yesterday's.

Perhaps I should find some ironing, to try and achieve some inner calm?

Stuff

noreply@blogger.com (Soph) — Tue, 15 Jul 2008 18:40:00 +0000

A list. To try and order my head. No, put my head into order, not order my head as one would a meal. Believe me, right now, it would be a pretty ropey dish to order.

1) I am tired.

2) I don’t have time.

3) I do not wish to get up in the mornings.

4) I don’t know what I am doing at work.

5) I don’t particularly like work.

6) I am avoiding the 1500 word assignment I have to hand in by 22^nd as if it were infectious.

7) I dislike my own company.

8) I dislike my slothful attitude.

9) I have too many books to read.

10) I keep buying them.

11) I spend money as though I have a lot of it.

12) I don’t.

13) I shouldn’t have had alcohol on Saturday because that is probably the main reason I feel like shit today.

14) I have chewed my nails so that they hurt. Again.

15) I have eaten my weight in things that make me feel good for a second and bad for the rest of the year.

16) The floor is crunchy again.

17) There is ironing.

18) I have the spots of a teenager. Again.

19) My head is covered in itchy scabs that make me want to tear the whole thing off.

20) My hair sucks.

21) I keep buying things I don’t need.

22) I can’t be arsed.

23) I haven’t been swimming regularly.

24) I haven’t done any kind of exercise regularly.

25) I drink too much coffee.

26) The house is a mess.

27) I haven’t spoken to my Mum all week.

28) I keep watching Big Brother even though it really is shit.

29) I have too many DVDs to watch.

30) That ‘Scouting For Girls’ song is still in my head.

Yep. That's enough to be going on with.

Cardiff Zoo

noreply@blogger.com (Soph) — Mon, 14 Jul 2008 19:37:00 +0000

So, my weekend.

Was much much funness and stuff.

No problems getting there - no exciting mini-adventures on public transport. Quite disappointing, really! Need that kind of material sometimes.

Rocked up at the hotel at the same time as Gem (the birthday girl and reason I was there) and friends and got all girly and excited, because this is kind of what Gemma brings out of me - she is always girly and excited, and it's kind of contagious! In a good way, obv.

After sorting out rooms and stuff, we headed on into the city and found a bar.

It was around Pimms o'clock so I made the most of it. Had food as well. But I wish they wouldn't give me a straw with my drink - it's a dangerous, dangerous tool. Especially when you're not used to drinking, let alone drinking in the afternoon.

Gemma's friend, Gemma (yep, confusing, sorry) ordered a Mai Tai and got a pitcher of the stuff! She was only expecting a glass, and since most of us had only just met her I think she was worried she would come across as a bit of an alcoholic lush. How wrong she was, since I am, surely, the Queen or alcoholic lushes? OK, was then.

There was much laughing, hilarity, catching up on girly gossip and random photo-taking (another of Gemma's addictive qualities...she always has her camera with her).

More friends turned up after a traumatic journey involving cancelled trains, exhausts falling off cars and driving up and down in Cardiff before finally finding the hotel. They ate. We ordered more drinks.

Went to pick up the last member of our party - Gem's sister - who'd managed to miss her first bus from London, and so didn't get in until 5ish. And who apparently has been working stupid hours for little money.

Ventured back to the hotel where a 3-year old bottle of cheap Asti was opened and quickly consumed (it didn't stretch very far between 10 of us). Realised we had about 40 minutes to get ready before the first taxi arrived (I'll tell more about the taxi situation later) so ran into our respective rooms for swift, semi-drunken getting ready.

Tried on three different outfits and decided upon the black top/black-n-white floral-patterned-fifties-style skirt combo. With added leggings due to rushed attempt to shave legs failing badly.

Amy will be pleased to hear that I purchased leggings and did not attempt to wear footless tights.

Now. The taxi.

This is Cardiff, right? There are many taxis. But Gemma had prebooked the only cab firm with one taxi, it seems. Because he picked up five of us, took us to the hotel we were eating at, and then came back for the others.

It's funny.

But he was a very nice man, and gave good advice about the club attached to the hotel which we'd been told was 'ace'.

Ace, maybe. But only if you are 80 and desperate, apparently.

Anyway, the hotel.

The Copthorne Hotel, just outside the city.

We'd booked dinner and a show called 'Lights, Camera, Action' or something. Songs from films.

But we were early, so were invited to partake of drinks from the bar.

If we'd have been warned we may have consulted a financial adviser before ordering drinks.

Lou (Gem's sister) had a double Tia Maria and Coke. It was over £10.

I'm glad I stuck with a plain old Coke.

We'd already paid for the dinner/show thing, so we just bought four bottles of wine for the table when we got to the restaurant part.

Dinner was nice - kind of wish I was a vegan though, their plate was piled high! But, I enjoyed my minuscule salmon starter and chicken main. Not so sure about the coconut tart/banana ice cream combo though...odd. Still ate it mind you!

The show was...interesting. Basically, two boys and two girls doing karaoke...quite well. And one of the lads was well fit. The other looked a bit like the ginger bloke from The Full Monty. Shame.

We actually got shushed at one point because we were singing along to 'When You Say Nothing At All' and drowning out the ginger bloke. well, I think I'd prefer to have the room singing along than sitting there staring at me, or falling asleep like one Japanese chap!

Anyway, we had a laugh, except Gemma's friend Gemma who clearly could not understand how she had been convinced to come and see this freak show, and, indeed, pay for the pleasure! Poor thing - not her scene, I don't think!

Katie (who I have met a few times before) was making me laugh because we both heard Russell (Gemma's brother) talking to t'other Gemma about the death penalty or something equally light and cheerful, and Katie said something like '...what a chat-up line!'.

Then we both got the giggles and couldn't speak for a while. I may have looked like this...

Anyway, after the dinner we got Dave our one-cab-firm taxi driver to whisk us away from the too-expensive-to-get-drunk hotel, and into town.

Zoo.

It was about 11 by this time and already the place was heaving with drunk people wearing very little and swaying and staggering all over the shop. We were to join them. I took a deep breath.

It's been a while since I was out in the big wide world of scary drunk people.

But I slipped into it quite easily, I think.

Went to Walkabout where we spent the rest of the night.

There was much bad dancing, singing and laughing.

Until people started getting tummy aches.

In the queue at the toilets I conversed with Becky and Katie about the need for a poo.

It's OK, in the handful of times we've met before, we've discussed poo at least once.

So, we kept each other updated on the poorly tummy situation, and carried on with the bad (but careful) dancing.

Dancing, that is, without moving out feet.

I think the floor may have been painted with treacle and shards of plastic cups.

Not so good to dance on. But after a couple of drinks, who knows?

And one girl (nurse's outfit) kept swigging shots and blindly throwing the shot glass/plastic beaker into the crowd.

The heathen!

Anyway, birthday girl Gemma and three others left at around 1.30ish.

But her sister wanted to make the most of her night and so did another friend who was enjoying the attention she was getting from boys, so the rest of us stayed.

Until the bitter end.

When YMCA came on we knew we'd had our fill, so we headed out to the hotel. And I had a lovely chat with Russell about our shared slightly geekish love for Buffy.

It may have been mainly me talking. As it was for a great deal of the weekend, I seem to remember.

At the hotel we lost two more of our party to bed, and somehow found ourselves in a rather empty hotel bar with the stragglers from a stag do who were staying there too.

Next door to the bar, however, the club for 80-year olds was still going. I got dragged in to dance to Billie Jean with Louise. It was the last song. I don't know whether it was our dancing that finished it off, or just the fact that someone under 30 (just) wearing a wedding ring (gasp!) had infiltrated the aging singleton dance haven.

Anyway, we headed back to the bar, where the stag do stragglers had dragged the stag out of bed and were all sitting round chatting.

This continued until at about 4.30am there were only three left - Louise, Me and a bloke called...oh, God, I really don't know. I really wanted to be the last man standing, but Louise was high on Pro-Plus and I was ready to collapse, so headed up to bed, leaving them to battle it out to the bitter end.

I suspect she didn't sleep. I saw her about 8.30am off to catch her bus to return to London for work at 12noon-ish, and she looked wired. I was mighty impressed. But I really hope she slept on the journey.

Anyway, Sunday was spent eating and wandering aimlessly.

Luckily the weather was happy to let us do this without problem.

Unluckily, when Gemma starts wandering and talking she forgets that she has a troop of hungover friends/relatives behind her, some wearing shoes unsuitable for long walking journeys.

It was like a scene from Forrest Gump at one point when she looked up and said, 'Oh, I don't know where I'm going, let's just go back where we came from' to groans of 'I need water' and 'but we're in the middle of nowhere!'.

OK, so we were in Bute Park, I think. But we'd bloody walked a long way and all I could think about was how I could easily go and lap at the riverbank, so thirsty was I.

The other thing in my head was a song. A song so powerful it had penetrated my very being. A song with the almost Shakespearean line: 'She's flirty, turned thirty, ain't that the age a girl gets really dirty!'

Oh. My. God. If ever anyone was ready to go mad with lack of sleep, liquid and intelligent thought, it was me.

And now it's in my head again, great! Just that one line. Not even the whole song. I just like the line that makes me want to be thirty. Because if I got any dirtier, then the porn industry should look right out.

Anyway, I digress.

We finally made it back to civilisation. Shook off the last of the Sunday-morning cyclists and leadless dog-walkers (who all fall into my category of 'twats') who I'd been preaching about to all who were near. I suspect Gemma will contact me soon and tell me that her other friends don't like me and my fascist monologues. But I was hungover and tetchy.

Found a cafe.

I had three drinks. The waitress was slightly scared of me, I think. Because a vein may have been bulging in my forehead silently demanding that they serve us and serve us now or I may die.

The can of Coke (full-fat, very important in hangover cures) went down a treat. And very quickly. No need had I for the glass provided. For Hangover Coke needs to be drunk directly from the can. It's the most important part of the process. I don't know why, it's just more satisfying that way. And definitely NOT from a bottle. Big no-no.

The Innocent smoothie was also quite quickly consumed.

The water lasted slightly longer, but I could have drunk more.

I blame the bacon from the fry-up at the hotel.

We did more wandering and found shops. This is where Russell left us girlies to it. He managed a couple of shops and a food stop, so I was quite impressed with his stamina, really.

I bought a £2 pair of pumps at Debenhams. My sandals were hurting by this point. And I didn't care that one of them didn't have a lace, they fit and were sturdy. And brown with peach edging. Hmm.

We finally collapsed on the grass outside the castle. More photos and some sunbathing.

Until...a strange man headed, very slowly, towards us.

The jovial chatter stopped and we eyed each other under our sunglasses.

He stopped. Right in front of where we were sitting. Stared. Said nothing.

Then lay down.

Gemma said, in a very British way 'So, what time do we need to go? Yeah, we should be going now shouldn't we?'

And we hastily moved away.

And he quickly got up and strolled away, as if to say 'Oh, well, if you're not staying then what's the point?'

Bizarre.

And that was that really.

Gemma (not the birthday girl) was getting the same train as me. And I think we both wanted to collapse and sleep, because when I said 'I have an allocated seat, so I probably should use it' in apology for not sitting next to her, she said 'Oh, yeah, me too, that's fine!'. Not to be antisocial, but sometimes, you just don't want to talk.

Yes, even me.

So we headed to to station. I got my ticket out to see where the seat was. So did she. Guess what? Yep. Next to each other.

Much weirdness.

So we waited together. I talked some more. Far too much, in fact. Poor girl. And said 'I'm sorry if I'm antisocial but I'm just going to shove my iPod on and sleep, I think'.

The relief was palpable.

So we collapsed onto the train and I slept intermittently for a couple of hours.

The train has to go through Bromsgrove to get to Birmingham, though.

Do you know how evil that is? Seeing your stop only to have to wait another 40 minutes or so before you can actually touch it?

I had a happy husband waiting for me when I got (back) there. Probably not so happy by the time we'd walked home and I'd talked his ear off about funny stories that were only funny in my head or at the time.

Anyway, it was all good. I had a good weekend, but was so glad to see Bren. It felt as thought I'd not seen him for weeks.

And now he's in London again.

And all I have is Big Brother for company.

Speaking of which...tis time!

Train to Cardiff

noreply@blogger.com (Soph) — Mon, 14 Jul 2008 19:18:00 +0000

So. It seems the Gods are against me. The minute I decide to be all good and get my laptop out to do some work on my second assignment, a bunch of seemingly over-excited student-types get on the train.

And decide that even though the train is fairly quiet, that they want to sit by me. Even watching the cute kid and his Dad play Travel Downfall is better than this.

I have switched off the Scott Mills Daily Podcast (off of Radio 1) and swapped it for the more mindless Scouting for Girls album. Mindless? Yes. But I am loving it. It makes me smile and want to dance.

Anyway, I did have a table to myself, and now I have politely moved my laptop so that it is fucking hanging off the edge of the table, just so that the Mini Cheddar eating teens can read the highly intellectual magazine they are enthralled with. Cosmo.

I must be nice. I mean, I’m sure I was a teenager once. A trashy magazine reading teenager. Still am sometimes. But I try/tried not to inflict my trashy, mini-cheddar eating, chewing-gum smacking self onto fellow train passengers.

It’s a new breed.

I s'pose I shouldn’t complain. I mean, at least they’re not chavs. God, I’d have locked up the laptop and sat on my case if they were. Although the girl opposite me is wearing suspiciously chav-looking hoops in her ears.

I don’t understand the whole music-listening-to thing when you are with friends, either. I get it if you are both sharing an earphone from the same iPod or something (it used to be Walkman…ah, the nostalgia), but there’s a girl here, apparently listening to her own music while she carries on chatting (loudly, might I add) to friends.

Isn’t that just a little bit rude?

God I hope they get off before we get to Cardiff.

Have I turned into such a people-hater? It must be because I have to put up with them on a daily basis. There should be a train carriage for people like me. Call it ‘Solitary’. Where you have an enclosed booth all to yourself so that you haven’t got to deal with other humanoids.

*Smiles*

Cardiff...

noreply@blogger.com (Soph) — Sun, 13 Jul 2008 19:16:00 +0000

...to follow.

Need sleep.

'Twas good.

Have voice of a 50-a-day homeless person.

As I said...'twas good:)

Chuffedness

noreply@blogger.com (Soph) — Thu, 10 Jul 2008 23:11:00 +0000

I have just made some inroads into the next assignment.

You know, the one that needs to be in by 22nd? I may have mentioned it in passing.

Anyway, I met up with a fellow Aber DL (that's Distant Learning) Study Schooler today and talked life, love and libraries (ooh, I like that), not necessarily in that order, and aside from drinking coffee, eating huge slabs of iced cinnamon swirl type cakes (that would be me then) and wandering around the shops, we went on a little DL student field trip.

To Birmingham Central Library.

Which is HUGE compared to the piddly little library I work in.

Not to demean my piddly little workplace, because, after all, I work there, so it is by far the superior of the two.

But, in terms of resources, I could have done with visiting Birmingham's library before now - I should have made the effort. Because as uninspiring as it may look on the outside it has a lot to offer us information-hungry information students.

We weren't in there very long, but managed to find and photocopy some (hopefully) useful stuff for our assignment. Which we are both struggling with. And rushing.

I haven't read any of it yet, apart from the initial flick through in the library. But, although I have faffed around a great deal this evening, this past hour and a half or so I have used my wide awakeness to try and tackled the PowerPoint presentation I need to do.

I now have all of my slide titles. Just need to fill in the meat of it, really. And I have done that for a few of them, and felt far too satisfied with my efforts. So stopped doing that and decided to tell you all about it, in a non-procrastinating kind of way. *cough*

Then there is the 1500 word report that goes with it.

Piece of cake.

Cinnamon swirl with lemony icing preferred.

Brave

noreply@blogger.com (Soph) — Tue, 08 Jul 2008 21:43:00 +0000

I went to the Lido!!! Outside and everything!!!

And it was lovely and sunny and non-rainy and ace.

And I had it all to myself because no-one else is as brave as me...!

And work was good. Mainly because I was all enthusiastic and excited to see my friends again.

It'll soon wear off:)

Purpose

noreply@blogger.com (Soph) — Tue, 08 Jul 2008 08:23:00 +0000

Am I the only person who actually looks forward to returning to work after a few days off?

I think there are many factors involved in my state of mind today:

1) I have had just over a week off;
2) That week was spent, in the main part, working on a report for an MSc that continues to seem further out of reach the deeper I read into it;
3) Bren is in London;
4) I used to like my own company, but have spent the week trying to get out of the house and be among the people I so desperately wanted to get away from, in order to avoid my thoughts;
5) We have a busy period coming up at work, and I am looking forward to getting back in control of my part in it.

I think the last one is key - power.

I'm looking forward to going back to work, partly because I miss my colleagues and, dare I say it, I miss the mentalists who frequent our 'joint', but also because I want to know what I've missed in work terms. Has my control over the summer reading challenge been handed over, as happened last year (causing all sorts of shit that we won't drag up again)?

I don't think it will have been. But, having learned my lesson last year, I will not hold on to things with quite so much tenacity this time, if anything has been done (or undone) behind my back. Sod the principle this time - my sanity is more important.

I am really feeling quite chilled.

Which is strange since I have only had about 3 hours sleep.

Don't ask.

But I did have a bath this morning, with just a little dribble of Waitrose Lavender & Bergamot Organic Bath Soak. Perhaps that is a luxury best enjoyed in the evening. I feel soooo good though. All clean and moisturised.

I should pamper myself more with that sort of thing. Instead of the kind of pampering I've been inflicting upon myself in the past week: eating shit.

Not a good habit.

I think that's another reason I'm feeling slightly less down on myself and a little more positive - with my 'first day of school' mentality has come my 'first day of diet' frame of mind.

Although, I did make a bit of a start yesterday. Just with two trips to Costa thrown in.

Two! And not just 'oh, I'm in town, I'll pop to Costa', I actually drove into town, twice, with a visit to Costa on the top of my agenda.

So, I shall be cutting down on the coffee this week as well.

Look out, Worcestershire. My chilled demeanour now will be replaced with fraught hair-wrenching and evil-eyed glaring at anyone and everyone by the end of the week, if my health kick continues past today.

God, I'm craving a latte already. It's not even 10am.

No. I'm determined.

And it's not a diet, like I said previously. It's a healthy eating plan. Way of life. All that bullshit they tell you to try and trick you into forgetting that you're no longer eating caramel slices with your morning coffee; the whole ensemble has been replaced by a banana and a green tea.

Not quite the same.

But, I'll let you know how much weight I've gained over the past two weeks tomorrow evening. I didn't go to Slimming World last Wednesday, and I put on the week before. I've got to be getting on for half a stone over my target. I'm not getting obsessive about it, I mean, my clothes still fit and everything. But I know that my despondent mood has been partly related to my lack of healthy foodstuffs. I know that. And I hate feeling like that, so I know that I need to pull my salad socks up a bit.

Anyway, I'm going to go for a swim this morning, either in the outdoor lido pool, or the leisure centre (for some reason I've decided that if it's raining I won't go to the outside one - why? It's not like I won't get wet anyway...not unless I'm very talented). And then to work.

Late one today - Readers Group. Another thing I'm distancing myself from slightly. Personally, I mean. I'll be there in person, but I'm not going to get so involved in it. I only end up frustrated.

Talking of reading, Bren bought me an Ali Smith book for my birthday, 'Girl Meets Boy'. It's only a slim volume, apparently one of a series of myths retold by modern authors. This one is based upon Ovid's myth of Iphis which obviously we have all read.

*cough*

I have no idea what Ovid's version is like, but I do have a vague idea what it's about now, having done a little interwebbing. I am only 60 pages in, but it's only 161 pages long, so I guess that's a fair portion of the story.

It's beautiful. I really hate it when there are pages of quotes and snippets of reviews to skim through before you get into the story itself, but the Observer quote on the front cover of this edition is perfect: 'A glorious wide-awake dream of a book'.

Dream. The way it's written is very dream-like indeed.

I probably could have gobbled it up in one sitting, once I started, but it's the kind of book I want to give my full attention to. And when you're in a coffee shop or at the point of falling asleep, that's just not possible.

But I am carrying it around with me. Just so that I can dip into it and read a few more paragraphs. Find out how the central relationship is progressing.

I haven't finished it, so perhaps by the end I will hate it. But I doubt it. So I'm going to go out on a limb and recommend it now. 60 pages in.

Buy it. Loan it. Browse through it in Waterstones.

It's lovely.

Week Off - Day Six

noreply@blogger.com (Soph) — Sat, 05 Jul 2008 13:20:00 +0000

So much for blogging about my daily goings on this week.

It started off so well with the 'I Suck' post. Then by Day Two, Tuesday, all desire to do anything other than be bleugh was gone.

So, here is a brief update of the week as I remember it:

Day Two: Reflexology Session, 10am. Nearly fell asleep again. Intended to go straight to the Library for some much needed report-researching/writing. Instead, went to Waitrose, spent £42 on God knows what, came home, ate far too much, and vegetated on the sofa like a big slug. Watched two films ('Maid in Manhattan' and 'Brokeback Mountain') a couple of chat shows I'd recorded and moaned to Bren online about how crap I am, then went to bed at about 7pm. Feeling quite sorry for myself.

Day Three: Woke up feeling slightly more optimistic. Had a dentist appointment. Need a filling. Went to Costa (this became a big part of my week off), then went and got my hair cut. As they say, a hair cut's as good as a holiday, and (moves into house and resumes typing on kitchen floor, due to freakish weather) feeling much better because of my barnet, went and got the car washed, and paid £2 to vacuum it out at the garage when it would have been much freer to do it at home. Drove through massive rainstorm into Library and did report-related stuff. Upset Bren.

Day Four: Thursday. Was quite productive. Added final touches to report. It's absolute shit, but it's done and printed. Vacuumed. Ironed. Probably went to Costa. Oh - had contact lens test and spent a fortune. Supposed to have bikini wax. Cancelled due to illness. Or 'oh God, I don't want to poke around in HER bits today!' crisis. Made dinner for Bren. Made up with Bren. I think.

Day Five: Friday. Nice lie-in. Went for bikini wax. New lady - other one has disappeared to Ireland, in a bid to escape these monthly tortures I inflict upon her. New lady is very nice. But not quite as efficient. It is a long session. I walk out of the salon like John Wayne. Find food. Go to Library. try to read up for next assignment, but am distracted by people outside dressed in 1940s US soldier gear and music and dancing which is too hilarious to describe. Leave when a huge belly dancer struts her stuff and is videoed on someone's mobile phone, presumably for later, personal consumption. Urk. Peel off waxy undies and have shower. Put on short new dress and get taken out to a local(ish) pub where I am the youngest and sluttiest dressed patron. Feel self-conscious, and slightly naughty. Wonder if man who stares at me on the way out is wondering whether my pale legs have seen the light of day before, or whether I'm wearing any underwear. I am. Much to Bren's utmost disgust. After lovely meal, ruin it by going to Drive-Thru McDonalds to sample new McFlurry's. Our sad, not-so secret addiction. Home and bed to watch Big Brother eviction (another guilty secret). But not before switching off internet router and upsetting Bren. Again.

Day Six: Today! Bit of a lie-in. Try to study at home. Fruitless. Need Costa. Go to Costa. Ah, sweet latte/pecan slice. Now I can concentrate. Finish reading final module, taking little in and listening to Ash and Bjork on my iPod, in an attempt to drown out the newborn baby that already hates the world enough to try and deafen itself and all within a five-mile radius of it with its screams. Few more extra readings to do. Re-introduce myself to assignment two. Decide that I hate it and wonder if becoming a cleaner is the way to go. Wander round Waterstones wondering if the fact that I am overdrawn should prevent me from buying books I don't need and will not read in this lifetime. Leave empty-handed. Home. Set up laptop outside and take books with me to enjoy some al fresco pretend-reading. Start writing blog post. Throw laptop into kitchen when rain calls off play. Continue post sitting on kitchen floor, cross-legged, facing freezer and wondering how my life has come to this.

Hmmm.

Not all that productive or optimistic, then. Yes, so I finished the effing report. But, if you were to read it, you would understand the distinct lack of any sense of achievement that I feel. And I also have another stupid assignment to do now. By 22nd July. Tick tock tick tock.

Hence the long, boring post. Anything to distract from doing it.

Week Off - Day One

noreply@blogger.com (Soph) — Mon, 30 Jun 2008 16:29:00 +0000

I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck I suck!

Ah. Now that’s out of my system.

Well, no it’s not really.

It’s all very well for bloody Noel Edmonds to write a book and tell me that I can be ‘Positively Happy’ and for Susan Jeffers to tell me to ‘Feel the Fear and Do It Anyway!’.

Neither of them have tackled this effing report. I’m guessing.

Because if they had they would have written books with such titles as ‘Positively Shitty’ and ‘Feel the Fear and Give the Fuck Up, Curl Up and Cry!’.

I have spent over two hours, solid, at my place of work, trying to write something both coherent and report-like and relevant.

I have never had so much trouble in doing such a thing.

Why?

I don’t get it.

I’m 29. So why do I feel as though this seemingly simple task in front of me is so ridiculously impossible?

Especially when many before me have completed it? Many who I met at last year’s study school, and didn’t seem any more or less intelligent than myself. But apparently have a brain that can figure out this kind of thing.

I am currently in panic attack mode. Not quite panicking just yet, but with that little ball of anxiety working it’s way from the pit of my stomach to the centre of my throat and back again, just reminding me that I am in over my head and might as well give up now.

But I won’t.

As much as I am complaining about this, I’m bloody well not giving up. I am going to hang on in there and hand something in. Anything. Even if it’s the shittiest piece of work I have ever completed. Even if a blank sheet of paper dipped in dogshit would constitute a better report, I will hand in my efforts.

Surely the stress and tears I’ve wasted over this are worth marks alone? Despite the vacuity and irrelevance of the content?

On the upside I am enjoying my current soundtrack: Ministry of Sound Chilled 1991-2008.

Very nice.

Right, I’m changing location – from Droitwich to Worcester.

Bigger reference section for me to nose at and try and gather inspiration from.

I did say try.

Go Sophie, it's your birthday...

noreply@blogger.com (Soph) — Sun, 29 Jun 2008 18:26:00 +0000

I wouldn't say we've partied like it's my birthday, but we have had a very lovely day.

I was greeted in all my greasy-faced, messy-haired finery with a rendition of 'Happy Birthday' by the Welsh Male Voice Choir first thing this morning.

OK, it was just Bren, but he has such resonance to his voice that it need only be him to give that effect. I'm sure the neighbours weren't too chuffed about it.

Then I ate breakfast and tinkled and tapped on my laptop while Bren did his technical podcasty type stuff.

Oh no, I have missed out a vital part of this process.

I opened cards and presents!! I had many a card that made me chortle, some cute ones and none, count them NONE with cats on. Sophie the cat lady is no more it seems. Perhaps that is because she's gone and gotten herself a husband!

And I have received many lovely gifts - I am a spoilt princess of a girl.

Yes, girl. A big 29-year old girl. Got it? Good.

Then we ventured out into the big wide world and promptly went for coffee. It's hard work. So hard, in fact, that Bren fell asleep.

And this was before I'd dragged him shopping!

I bought a lovely dress from Debenhams. Kind of safari style button-down with a belt. And it's short. I nearly got changed into it to go to the cinema, in my saucy frame of mind, but I convinced myself it would be too cold (that was my non-saucy conscience telling me to be a good girl and not explore my naughty side on a Sunday afternoon. Not on this particular Sunday afternoon, anyway...and not at Vue Cinema. Just because it's dark, doesn't mean people don't know what you're up to!).

Hmm. In fact I didn't buy it, Bren did. I think it was the shortness that did it. He reckons the changing room girl was eyeing me up.

He reckons everyone is eyeing me up!

What else?

We bought pick 'n' mix (very restrained we were too) and went to see 'Wanted'.

Which was ace! I'm turning into a bit of a boy when it comes to films - am currently loving the shoot 'em up type action flick. Although when there is the sweet candy combination of James McAvoy, Angelina Jolie and Marc Warren, who cares if the film is any good?!

But it was. As long as you don't go into it thinking 'Hmm, I'm looking forward to this realistic depiction of life as an assassin'. Because really, the suspension of disbelief is an important factor here.

And the soundtrack was good too. The kind of music you want to burst through doors too. Which indeed we did upon leaving the auditorium. We're such geeks!

And then onwards to Pizza Express. Where we ate in record time, tipped the lovely Eastern European waitress well and watched the chavs go by. And maybe ridiculed them just a little, in our oh-so pompous way.

And how I laughed when a small child being carried by her Dad to a table next to us coughed all over Bren's food. It was gross, but Bren's reaction was hilarious. I had to tell him not to say anything because I think if I hadn't been there to stop him he'd have taken his bread knife and stabbed her muchly. Like off of the film we'd just seen.

As entertaining as that would have been, I hadn't quite finished my meal, and it was too nice to ruin with a small child's blood.

And now I'm going to delve into a huge pig-shaped birthday cake my Mum bought me from Tesco because she said it was the one with the most icing on, and she knows that's my favourite.

Hoorah for birthdays!!! And hoorah for being me!!!

And hoorah for having a whole week off of work.

And a general hoorah just because I can.

And a woo just to round it all off nicely.